


The Draw

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 06:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5817028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Ellison lost his abilities, would Sandburg still be a guide? More importantly, would they still be friends?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Draw

 

First published in  _Sensory Overload 6_ (2001)

 

It hadn’t seemed anything to worry about at first, even Blair had to admit that. Jim’s senses often went haywire when he was sick, and to have them cut out altogether didn’t seem that unusual. So the lowgrade fever and slight illness, bordering on the edge of incapacitating Ellison but never quite crossing over, didn’t concern either of them very much.

But then Jim had eventually gotten better, and his senses hadn’t.

Okay, so problems in the whole Sentinel thing weren’t that new to Blair. He was less of a Guide and more of a creative fix-it guy, he thought sometimes, coming up with seat-of-the-pants solutions to every new situation that cropped up with Jim. No pressure there; it was only a man’s--Sandburg’s friend’s--life and sanity at stake, and so what if Blair had never done anything like that before? He’d volunteered for the job and accepted the responsibility of it. And he’d always seemed to find the solutions Jim needed.

Until now.

Oddly enough, the whole thing didn’t seem to upset Ellison as much as Blair had expected, which bothered the student somehow. Wildly fluctuating senses drove the detective nuts, but senses functioning at normal human levels...well, Jim had had more experience dealing with those than with sentinel senses, anyway. Besides, he seemed to think that the cut-out was a residue of being sick that would eventually wear away, even after days and then a week passed since his illness.

Blair wished he could be so sure it was temporary.

Already he was thinking about what Jim didn’t seem to: what if the Sentinel was back to “normal” for good? There went Blair’s paper; that was a consideration. More importantly, that meant the one known Sentinel in modern society was no more, an incalculable loss. And while Jim certainly seemed like he could get used to the idea, it would necessitate a few personal changes, too. What would Blair’s role be now in Jim’s life and work? There was nothing to bond them anymore. What good was a Guide without a Sentinel, a researcher without a subject?

A roommate and friend-by-default who no longer had a reason to stay?

 

Jim Ellison turned the key in the door with quiet relief. “Long day” didn’t even begin to cover two scuffles with some stubborn street punks, one very brief but very rattling chase, a veritable mountain of paperwork, and an irate Simon Banks. Rarely had a beer, popcorn, and a good book sounded so enticing.

Sandburg had commandeered the couch already, Jim saw as he entered, engrossed in a few books of his own. The detective shook his head to himself; how it was possible to read four books at once and make any sense of them was beyond him.

Blair immediately turned at the sound of Jim’s entry, his finger marking his place in the large, temporarily forgotten volume on his lap. “Jim! I was just beginning to wonder if you were coming home.”

Ellison waved his hand tiredly, headed into the kitchen. Something smelled good. “Don’t ask, Chief. I didn’t even get lunch today, we were so busy. What did you make?”

“Well, there’s some stroganoff in the pot on the stove--I didn’t know when you’d be home so it’s probably cold by now, but--”

“Got it,” Jim preempted him, dishing out a large plateful of the noodles and meat. Not that he’d tell his partner, but even one of Blair’s vegetarian dishes would have looked good just then, let alone one of Jim’s meaty favorites. One Sandburg wasn’t very fond of, actually, Jim recalled, and he turned away from the microwave to frown at his partner. “Since when do you cook stroganoff?”

Blair had already crossed over to the kitchen table, standing there still holding that book in a curiously hesitant stance. Ellison’s frown deepened as he waited for Blair’s answer. “It’s not that hard, man--it was in the recipe book.” He shifted awkwardly.

The microwave pinged and Jim reached back to take the food out while not moving his eyes from the younger man. The new awkwardness between them since the loss of his senses irked him far more than the lost abilities. “What’s going on, Chief?”

Sandburg leaned forward, suddenly intent. “Did any of it come back today? Any signs, maybe a flash?            

Oh. He should have guessed. Ellison felt an odd twinge of disappointment. “Uh-uh. Nothing. I think maybe you’ve got an ex-Sentinel on your hands, Sandburg.”

Blair’s lips flattened. “You don’t just lose what’s in your genes, Jim. You were born a Sentinel--that doesn’t just go away from one day to the next.”

“It did when I was a kid.” Jim took his food to the table and sat down across from his roommate, voice more even than he felt. Talking about this subject ranked right up there with pouring out his inner feelings on his least-favorites list. Besides, he really wasn’t liking the reasons he came up with for why Blair was harping on the matter. Yeah, it was bad for the kid’s research, but it was Ellison’s life they were talking about, and he’d been perfectly happy without berserk senses. They were nice--when they were working right--but that didn’t mean he’d be lost without them.

“That was different--you suppressed them then. And other times it was emotional triggers that turned them off, but you didn’t do feel anything like that now, right?”

“No.”

“Not even subconsciously?”

“No,” Jim answered, impatiently. “Let me eat, Sandburg. It was a long day and I’m hungry.”

Blair seemed to wince. “It doesn’t even worry you that they might not come back?”

Ellison dropped his fork on the plate with a clink. “Frankly, no. Those things were more of a nuisance then a help and I was a good cop without them. I will be again if they’re gone for good, okay? Can I eat dinner now?”

Sandburg raised both hands in a hey-don’t-let-me-disturb-you pose, then spun and disappeared into his room, the door shutting succinctly behind him. Ellison made a face, then resumed his dinner. Why did the senses thing have to matter, anyway? Things were fine the way they were with or without the sentinel stuff.

His eyes fell on the book Sandburg had brought to the table and then left there, and Jim idly turned it so he could read the title. _Watchmen, Sentinels, and Guardians in Tribal Culture_. Oh, for--didn’t the kid ever think about anything else?

But somehow the rest of his meal didn’t taste quite as good anymore.

 

“Sandburg! Hey, it’s good to see you! Where you been?”

Henri’s cheerful voice lifted Sandburg’s head and he grinned a little wanly at the black detective. “Hey, H. I’ve been kinda busy with school. I’m just here to drop off some stuff for Jim.” He stepped farther into the bullpen, settling his bookbag at the foot of Jim’s deserted desk.

Henri was sitting down at his own desk nearby. “Uh, I think he’s in with Simon right now. Been in there for a while--should be out any minute.”

“Thanks.” Blair dug into his bag, pulling out the sheaf of papers he’d been toting around all day in anticipation of coming to the station that afternoon. Files weren’t allowed to be removed from the building without good reason, but there had still been plenty of notes and reports to type that Jim had brought home and generously shared with him. It seemed like that was all Blair was good for those days, no longer having any reason to ride along with Ellison.

Delivery made, he re-zipped his pack and slung it over his shoulder, glancing at Simon’s office before he left, only to see the captain wave at him from inside. Terrific. This was just what he did _not_ need that day. Tamping down his trepidation, Blair crossed to the office door and opened it, leaning inside.

“Come in, Sandburg.” Simon waved him in with a hand holding a cigar. “We were just talking about you.”

“Yeah?” Blair asked wearily, entering and shutting the door behind him. Jim was slung low in a chair across from Simon’s desk as he so often was when he and Banks were having an informal talk, dark blue eyes fixed on Sandburg but not giving anything away. Talk about being out of place; Blair had rarely felt so keenly that Jim was his only connection to the department and the men in it.

If Simon noticed any of his tension, he didn’t show sign of it. “Jim was just telling me about what’s been going on. I don’t know,” he scratched briefly at his jaw, “maybe it’s for the best.”

Blair had to resist the urge to shake his head, marveling at everyone’s shortsightedness. A real live Sentinel, perhaps one of a kind, not to mention a cop with an edge, and no one seemed to care if he lost it or not. But all he said carefully was, “Yeah, right. Well, Jim said the same thing and I guess that’s what matters, right?” And, honestly, painfully, that was true. It was Jim’s life, after all. Who was Blair Sandburg to say he should’ve aspired to do more with it?

Banks peered at him a little more closely now. “Riiight,” he drawled, sounding almost as unconvinced as Sandburg. “That still leaves the matter of your status with the department.”

Blair had seen that coming, already reaching into his jacket for the observer pass he carried. He was a little angry at Jim’s apparent indifference to the matter, and at himself for having failed to figure out what was wrong with his sentinel, as he had every right to be. So why was he even more upset than he was angry?

“...as far as the department’s concerned, nothing has changed, of course, so I’m leaving it up to Jim as to whether or not he’d still like to continue your riding along.”

The logical knowledge that he had no reason to do so warred with the bitterness of being gotten rid of so casually, but pride won out. Blair didn’t want to ride with someone just because it had grown to be a habit or because no one felt comfortable telling him it was time to go. He stood up stiffly, pulling out the hand that was curled around the observer pass. “Thanks, Simon, Jim.” His gaze barely grazed the detective, or even Banks as he set the pass down on the captain’s desk. “But there’s no point in me staying if Jim doesn’t need any help with his senses, right? I mean, it was a rush, but I’ve got a ton of other stuff to do so I’m just gonna bow out, okay? I really appreciate the last year, Simon.” That, at least, he could say in earnest, but it only reminded him how miserable he was at the thought of leaving it all behind.

“Sandburg...” But Simon didn’t really have anything to say, protesting for formality’s sake, and as far as Blair could tell from the corner of his eye, Jim hadn’t even moved. Blair adjusted his bag more firmly on his shoulder.

“I’ll see you later, Captain.” And then he left before he lost it.

The trip home on the bus, then trudging the two blocks to the loft in the just-starting rain were a little blurry. A big chapter in his life was closing and Blair hadn’t been ready for it. The station was only the start--what about where he’d live now? All excuse and reason for staying with Jim was suddenly gone. And he hadn’t even begun to give serious thought to what would happen to his thesis.

Well, one crisis at a time, and no more than two per day.

Which was why he didn’t even begin to tackle the one that troubled him the most. Where would that leave his relationship with the man he’d come to consider his closest friend?

 

Jim came home to what seemed to be an empty loft; no heartbeat to welcome him now. He listened hard instead before finally catching the slight strains of music coming from Sandburg’s room. Figured, he smiled thinly. The kid _would_ only listen to soft music now that Jim’s senses were off-line. Equally quietly, he set about starting dinner.

He and Simon had stayed and talked for some time after Sandburg’s abrupt departure. Funny that Jim seemed more able to talk to his captain and friend than to Blair, even about Sandburg and the sentinel stuff. But it had given him a lot to think about. Simon’s first point was that maybe Jim was fine with the loss of his senses, but it sure left Sandburg up in the air. The whole catalyst for their friendship and rooming and working together was suddenly gone, as well as Sandburg’s roles both of guide and observer. Jim’s immediate response had been to protest that nothing really had to change because of that--he’d never liked change, anyway. Then again, what reason _did_ he have for taking Sandburg with him on the job now, sharing the loft with him? It made Ellison uncomfortable that he needed to find an excuse. Before, Sandburg had been there to help out with his senses, but now...

Which led to point two. Sometimes what drew two people together wasn’t what kept them together. Even without being able to fall back on the the logical reason of needing help with his senses, Jim Ellison had to admit, he simply wanted them to stay together. There was nothing wrong with that, right? So why was the kid making such a big deal about it?

Back to point one. Ellison hated going in circles.

Before long, the chops were cooked and the potatoes baked in the microwave. The scent didn’t seem to be drawing his partner out, and Jim finally gave in, hollering, “Sandburg, dinner!”

The pause was long enough that he didn’t think Blair would be joining him, when shuffling feet and the click of the door announced Sandburg’s arrival.

He wasn’t a very encouraging sight. Blair came out and took his seat with barely a glance at Jim. Oh, yeah, you didn’t need to be a Sentinel to know that something was definitely wrong. And yet there was a slight flush of rebellion in Blair’s face, too. His partner was never one to give up without a fight, even when he was out of his depth. Jim almost smiled at the thought.

It only took another glance at Sandburg to get rid of that impulse.

Setting the table, he offered conversationally, “You cut Simon kinda short there today, Chief.”

Blue eyes regarded him flatly. “I wasn’t trying to. He asked, and I gave him an answer.”

“Didn’t even give me a chance to have my say.” Jim raised an eyebrow as he set out a plate full of food in front of Blair.

“Why? So you could tell him that there wasn’t any reason for me to keep tagging along? Thanks but no thanks, man.”

“Why do you assume that’s what I want?” Jim asked, partly curious, partly annoyed. He wasn’t even sure what he would have said, but why did he have to give a reason, anyway? Simon had made it clear that Sandburg continued to be welcome at the station, having the intelligence and now the experience to be of help. And as for the living arrangements, Jim could rent out his spare room to anyone he darned well pleased.

Sandburg dropped all pretense of being interested in his food. “Oh, come on,” he broke out angrily. “You could care less if your senses come back or not. Maybe it’s not important to you but it is to me. That was something special, and you’re just...throwing it away.”

Jim’s temper flared. “It’s not like it was my choice, Junior, remember? Besides, is that all you care about, whether you’ve got a Sentinel to study or not?”

Blair drew back as suddenly, his face going from red to white with alarming speed. “Is _that_ what you think?”

Suddenly, Ellison didn’t know what to think. What was it about this...anthropologist that could get him so angry sometimes? And at the same time, there was a real knot forming in his gut. Sandburg sounded ready to call it quits and take off at any moment, and as mad as Jim was...

He didn’t want that. Sentinel or no.

“Look,” Jim dropped his voice, raising a placating hand, “I know this is...bad for your research. If I could help you with that, I would, but I can’t. That doesn’t mean we have to rush into something stupid, hurry up and change things. I don’t need the room back right now, and you can keep coming into the station if you want...”

He hadn’t become a good cop by not learning how to read people. The hurt and shame that flashed briefly in Sandburg’s face caught him off guard and he lost his train of thought. What had he said now?

“Chief--”

“I’m not really hungry tonight, Jim. Thanks anyway.” Sandburg’s voice was uncharacteristically bland and he stood up stiffly, expression wiped clean. Without another word or glance at Ellison, Blair turned and disappeared back into his room as if he couldn’t breathe at the table where the detective still sat, stunned.

Jim’s jaw firmed. Fine. He’d offered and Sandburg wasn’t interested. Ellison sure wasn’t going to beg for the grad student to stick around. If that was all this whole deal was worth to the kid, Jim would be damned if he’d lose sleep over it.

He ate the rest of the tasteless food out of sheer duty and then carefully put the plate and silverware in the sink. After a moment of thought, he left Sandburg’s serving still untouched at his place. Maybe he’d get hungry later.

Not that Jim Ellison cared, but, well, old habits were hard to break.

One more glance at the closed french doors and his resolve hardened again. Pulling his coat on and slapping his baseball cap onto his head, he announced to any interested parties, “I’m going back to the station to finish up some work.” And not receiving any answer nor expecting any, he left, slamming the loft door behind him.

 

An hour later, those forbidding french doors cracked ever so slightly. Blair peered out into the living room and, no one in sight, ventured out of his room.

He wasn’t scared of Jim, of course, but after their last “talk,” he had no desire to run into his roommate again, either. The Ellison wrath that cowed felons in interrogation had little effect on Blair anymore. The Ellison cold shoulder was a whole other matter.

His food still sat on the table, untouched, the rest of dinner’s trappings cleared away. Oddly affected by the sight, Blair sat down and ate without tasting the cold food, adding his dish and utensils to those already in the sink when he was done. Then, hesitating, he took up the dishtowel and set to washing them.

He’d almost thought for a minute that Jim honestly wanted him to stay. That despite Ellison’s practicality, the simple fact that they were friends was enough of a connection between them. But then why did Jim keep insisting on bringing Blair’s research into it? He hadn’t even _mentioned_ the thesis for over a month, at least. And he could keep coming to the station if he _wanted?_ Gee, who could resist such a warm invitation like that? And Jim didn’t need the room just then. Well, that was certainly a reason to stay. Hadn’t the last year meant anything at all? Friendship would have been a reason he could accept, being wanted for who he was rather than what he did. But Blair Sandburg had never been a charity case and certainly wasn’t about to start then.

The dinner dishes done, Blair rinsed out the sink and carefully hung up the dishtowel to dry. Okay, then what?

The phone rang.

Blair almost grinned at that. Ask and ye shall receive. Rubbing his damp hands dry on his pants leg, he reached for the kitchen phone. “Hello?”

“Blair? It’s Simon.”

First-name basis--that was bad. But it was Simon’s tone, that particular mix of exasperation and worry the captain affected when something was wrong, that made Blair straighten where he stood and become all attention. “What’s wrong? Something happened to Jim.”

“Now, it’s not too bad,” Simon instantly soothed, and the fact that he wasn’t denying Blair’s words heightened the anthropologist’s edginess. “They were booking a guy in the bullpen and he went berserk, started knocking people around. Jim just...got in the way.”

“Is he okay?” His voice was a marvel of control; Blair barely recognized it. It didn’t match the sudden chaos inside him.

“They took him to General--he got hit pretty hard on the head. He’s conscious, just a little confused and...,” Simon hesitated. “He’s been asking for you, Sandburg.”

Blair’s first reaction, to ask if it was a senses thing, was quickly shelved. That wasn’t an issue anymore. So then why was Jim wanting to see him? But all he said was, “I’m on my way.” Of course he’d go, immediately; he’d have gone even if Jim didn’t want to see him. And he hung up the phone with that still-exquisite control.

By the time he reached his car, his hands were shaking on the steering wheel. Blair ignored it just as he did the tremors inside him, the same anxious worry he felt whenever Jim went in pursuit of some armed nutcase, whenever he heard shots and Jim was out of sight, whenever there was word that Jim had been injured and details were sparse.            

Blair took a deep breath at a red light, flexing his shaking fingers. Who was he kidding? Jim Ellison was far more to him than a research project and personal holy grail, even more than the provider of the first real security Blair had had in a long while. The detective was his friend, and had been for some time. And Blair hated the thought of losing that far more than of the one real modern Sentinel being out of commission for good.

The hospital, thankfully, was on the side of the station that was closer to the loft, and Blair made the trip quickly. The fact that he knew the route so well would have bothered him to think about in other circumstances, but it was hard to concentrate on anything. Blair parked the car in the first spot he found, and hurried inside. A mention of Jim’s name and they were already directing him around the back to just outside the ER.

Simon was waiting for him there, pacing the hall with an unlit cigar clenched between his teeth. His frown eased at the sight of Blair, and he took the cigar out long enough to wave it at the ER doors behind him. “Good, you’re here. Maybe you can talk some sense into that partner of yours.”

“You said he’s all right?” Blair asked weakly.

“Not even concussed, but he looks like he’s got a headache the size of Manhattan and he kept asking me where he was, so I don’t think everything’s sinking in yet. But he didn’t want the doctor to give him anything until you got here, said he had to talk to you first.”

Drug interactions--Blair hadn’t thought of that but it made sense. Just because Jim’s senses were out of whack didn’t mean his drug sensitivity was gone. That had to be why Ellison wanted to see him.

Funny, he felt almost...disappointed.

“In there?” he asked Simon, sounding steadier now that it seemed likely that Jim would be just fine.

“Yeah. They said to send you in when you got here.”

It was one of the myths of hospitals, that nobody but patients and staff were allowed in the ER. Blair had already spent more time in that one than he cared to admit, half the time on a stretcher, the other half watching over Jim as the detective was treated for something. As long as he stayed out of the way and Jim wasn’t critical, Blair had always been allowed to go along as the partner.

There was a nurses station in the middle of the large room, and Blair went over to give his name and ask about Jim. The nurse smiled at him and pointed to one of the curtained-off cubicles.

He could hear Jim’s voice already as he approached, and its dazedness made him hurry faster.

“What’s going...what’re you doing? I didn’t...ask...oh, God.” The last was a genuine groan, and Blair ducked through the curtain in time to see the detective, sitting on the edge of a gurney clad only in a hospital gown, lower his head into his hands. There was a nurse standing not-so-patiently next to him, holding a blanket in her hands and looking at Jim with an expression of vexation Blair recognized from many others who had tried to out-stubborn his partner and had lost. He gathered quickly what the problem is and stepped forward, addressing himself to the nurse.

“I’m Blair Sandburg, Jim’s partner. Uh, can I help with that?”

Jim looked up during the introduction, peering at Blair with an owlish look that would have made the younger man laugh if not for the lines of pain around the detective’s eyes.

“He needs to lie down and stay warm, especially until the dizziness passes. The doctor wanted to give him something to help but Mr. Ellison’s been a little resistant to the idea.” The critical eye the nurse gave her patient made it clear she was being polite in her choice of words. Ellison spared her a grimace before returning his stare to Blair as if he weren’t sure what he was seeing.

“I’ll take care of it. And could the doctor come back in maybe 10 minutes?” Taking the blanket, Blair added more quietly, “I’ll get him calmed down by then.”

“Sandburg--” The growl behind him did make him finally smile, a sign that things weren’t that far off normal, after all.

The nurse gave them both a skeptical look but relented, relinquishing the blanket and the fight to Blair. He turned back to the detective hunched over on the bed.

“‘Get him calmed down’?” Jim repeated between clenched teeth.

“Hey, you’re the one harassing the poor lady for doing her job,” Blair answered automatically, but he was already studying the detective’s face. Besides the obvious signs of pain, Ellison held himself gingerly, as if afraid to move, and his eyes weren’t they’re usual clear blue, murky with confusion. Blair’s voice softened. “What’s going on, Jim?”            

“I was gonna ask you that. What happened? I--” he cringed again, one hand rising to the side of his head. Shifting slightly on his feet, Blair could see the lump just behind the older man’s ear, and winced in sympathy.

“Why don’t you lie down like the nurse said and then I promise I’ll tell you everything.”

Jim looked briefly like he might argue, then seemed to think better of it and, with brittle movements and hisses of pain, let himself be maneuvered flat. Blair snapped the blanket out and laid it over the patient, watching as Ellison’s tense expression eased incrementally.

“Isn’t that better? Now, what did you want to ask me?”

Ellison’s eyes opened again. “How ‘bout what happened?”

“Simon said some guy they just arrested went crazy in the bullpen. Looks like he got you in the head pretty good.” Blair glanced around the cubicle, finding a stray chair against the wall and dragging it closer with his foot to sit on its edge. “They brought you to General.”

“Why didn’t they tell me that?” Jim muttered, eyes creasing again as he apparently regretted moving his head.

“Uh, I think they did, Jim, you’re just a little out of it.”

“Don’ like hospitals...never tell you anything.” Jim’s eyes were closed but he was still moving restlessly under the blanket. “Nobody to watch your back.”

Blair started at that. Was that why Jim had asked for him? “Were you worried about the drugs, Jim? They said you wouldn’t let ‘em give you anything until I got here.”

Jim waved a hand vaguely, squinting again at Blair. “Drugs? No just...wanted to talk to you first...Where are we?”

Blair sighed. Simon wasn’t kidding when he said Ellison wasn’t really processing stuff yet. The anthropologist reached up to grip Jim’s forearm through the blanket. Physical anchors sometimes helped the mind focus, or at least they had always helped the detective. “You’re at the hospital, Jim. You just got a little banged up, no big deal. The doctor’s gonna give you something, you sleep for a while, then we’ll see about taking you home, huh?”

He hadn’t really expected that to work, so Blair swallowed his surprise when Jim relaxed back into the bed with an only slightly reluctant, “Okay, Chief.” He opened his eyes fractionally to pin Blair again. “You staying?”

Blair settled back into the chair with a deliberate air of permanence. “I’m staying. The doctor’s gonna be here soon and I need to talk to him about what he wants to give you, anyway.”

Jim grunted, body slackening again. “Good. Glad you’re...here.” That last was a mumble, sleep starting to gain the upper hand.

“Yeah, I am, too,” Blair said softly. He watched with awed fascination, and not a little humility, as the detective let his guard down completely and went to sleep. Trusting Blair, anthropologist, grad student, and unofficial partner, to keep watch. The entrustment warmed him far more than any words could have.

He could be so blind sometime. Here he’d come thinking Jim had some sensory thing going on or wanted to ask him about the drugs, and those practical concerns hadn’t even occurred to the man. Instead, he’d wanted Blair there simply because of who he was, because he trusted him.

The sensory stuff suddenly seemed as inconsequential as Jim professed it to be. Yeah, the loss of a Sentinel was no small thing, and Blair regretted it. But he had a place in his friend’s life regardless.

Smiling contentedly to himself, Blair pulled a book out of the bag he’d brought along and, propping his knees against Jim’s gurney, began to read.

 

It was a lazy kind of awakening, like when he knew it was his day off and there was no hurry to rise and it just felt too comfortable to worry about getting up. Only, small things seemed to be off. The sheets were of rougher fiber than his usual silk ones, dragging ever so gently against his skin. The smell was acrid and, while not unfamiliar, definitely not the pine and oak smells of the loft. Beeps, whirs, and the babble of voices filled the distant background, while close to him was the soft breathing and heartbeat that usually echoed from a floor below.

Jim Ellison frowned. Something was definitely off, yet there was no sense of danger, certainly no panic coming from his Guide. The Sentinel turned unerringly in the direction of his companion and, licked his lips in an effort to get rid of the dryness sleep brought. It didn’t work and his voice was still a little hoarse as he said, “Chief?”

A rustle of pages and rush of air as the body next to him moved, and then Blair was leaning close. “Yeah, Jim? How’re you feeling?”

Jim’s frown turned into a wince. “I’d feel better if you stopped yelling.” He opened his eyes to squint at the younger man. “And turned the lights down.”

But Sandburg was doing neither, not budging from his chair as first surprise, then hope blossomed in his eyes and his voice rose in controlled excitement. “The lights are too bright? Are your senses back, Jim? Can you hear, uh, what they’re saying in the room next door?”

That took a moment to process. Jim paused, then winced anew. “Yeah. You don’t wanna know.”

A brilliant smile lit Sandburg’s face, one Jim would have even enjoyed seeing if he knew what had caused it. “You’re back online, man! Isn’t that great?”

It didn’t sink in right away, his brain still feeling fuzzy and half-asleep. Which was maybe why he was in a hospital? And the senses he’d nearly forgotten he’d lost were back in full. Funny, as natural as it had seemed to have them gone, it was just as comfortable to have them back now.

If maybe a little bit more under control. His pinched expression must have given away that he had a headache building because something dawned in Blair’s expression. The anthropologist jumped up to turn the overhead light off, leaving only the light filtering into the ER. His voice had also lowered when he returned to his chair and spoke again. “Sorry. How’s that?”

Jim laid back flat. “Better. But mind telling me why I’m here?”

Blair’s mouth quirked. “Sure, I’ve only told you about five times so far. Simon said a guy they were booking--”

“Never mind, I think I remember.” Jim scratched his forehead, then turned back to Blair. The kid was still looking like he’d burst with delight and Ellison felt faintly uncomfortable to have caused such a reaction. “Did they say when I could get out of here?” he asked, trying to change the direction of Sandburg’s thoughts.

“Oh, uh, the doctor wanted to check you out when you woke up but he said if you were feeling okay, he’d release you.”

“Great, let’s go home.” And he carefully pushed himself up. Ugh, not the nicest sensation, but at least it didn’t feel like he was going to lose his lunch or fall flat on his face. Sandburg, after a moment of startlement, first leapt to help him, then seemed to realize what he was doing and tried to get Jim to lay down again. Grimacing, Ellison prevailed.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be doing that yet, Jim--the doctor’s gonna throw a fit when he sees you, man.” The unruly curls shook in disapproval.

“I don’t care what the doctor does as long as I can go home and sleep in my own bed,” Jim muttered, then, as Blair began to move to the door to summon the doctor, his gaze sharpened on Sandburg and he grabbed the observer’s hand. “You’re coming home, too, right, Chief?” he asked intently.

Blair gave him a perplexed look. “You don’t think you’re driving yourself, do you? Simon would kill me if I let you.”

“No, I mean,” Ellison shifted his grip, less demanding. This wasn’t about requiring, it was about asking. “Are you coming _home?”_

Sandburg could be a pain in the neck, but he wasn’t dense. His face flushed faintly and he glanced at the floor, the wall, the door. “Well, your senses are back, right? You’re gonna need help with them again...right?”

Jim let go altogether. “And if they hadn’t have come back, it’d be _sayonara_?”

Blair had stilled his fidgeting, his gaze clear and unguardedly honest. “Not by choice, Jim.”

A smile stole over Jim’s face and this time his hand settled on Blair’s shoulder in friendship instead of desperation. Finally, the kid was making sense. Why couldn’t they have had this conversation a week ago? “Good. I’ve...kinda gotten used to having you around.” Oh, now he remembered. No matter how strong the feeling, expressing it just didn’t come easily.

Sandburg didn’t seem to care, grinning like he knew exactly what Ellison feeling. Which meant it was definitely time to change the subject. Jim gave his partner a nudge. “You gonna go find the doctor, Darwin, or send him a psychic message?”

“Oh, yeah, I’ll be right back.” A comically stern finger levelled at his nose. “You stay there. It’s not gonna make a good impression on the doctor if he comes in to find you lying on the floor.”

Ellison sighed with sincere long-suffering. The observer could try his patience like none other. “Are you gonna go?”

“I’m going, I’m going.”

Sandburg was almost at the door when Jim suddenly found himself saying, “Chief?” Blair turned to look at him, curious and a little concerned. The corner of Ellison’s mouth turned up. “Thought for the day. What brings two people together doesn’t have to be what keeps them together.”

Blair gave him a half-smile in return, nothing childlike in his expression this time, and walked out the door.

Jim took a deep breath, gripping hard the edge of the bed. A few more hours of sleep wouldn’t have hurt but he’d do that more easily at home in the loft. And it would be good to go home again. Not alone, either.

Smiling faintly, Jim Ellison sat back and waited for his partner to return.

The End


End file.
